Logs:Soup (Cans) For My Family

Soup (Cans) For My Family
Dramatis Personae Holland, Nessie, Shane	2021-01-31 "I mean -- what?"
Location <NYC> Windmuller Park - Woodside
The playground equipment is covered over with snow, though what's falling now fast and sleety is a harder mix of ice that the wind turns to daggers in the air. There's plenty of evidence in the trampled footprints that earlier there was a lot of boisterous activity here but the uptick in the weather has driven most of the children off -- now there's just a sleek and kind of cyberpunk-looking silver and blue motorbike parked to one side of the playground, a small figure dressed in heavy boots, black trousers, heavy leather jacket (reading MUTANT MONGRELS MC over a shark-toothed skull and crossed-violin-bow Jolly Roger emblem), warm silver and blue scarf and cap, perched on the seat of the bike. Shane is just nibbling on a chicken tender out of a small carton of them, flicking the tail end of the chicken out of his blue clawed fingers toward a skinny stray cat that's skulking under the icy slide nearby. Holland Was walking through the now rough terrain of a childrens park wearing a ragged hoody with holes and patchs of cloths. She wears as well with the hood a large thick mask made from soup cans sewn to pieces of fabric and plastic as she looked towards the bike she shivered as her eyes look out of cracked and badly scratched sunglasses that have pieces of the lenses broken out of it. She careful pulled out a old soup can from what appear to a ruck sack made from plastic bags and a old broken car axle. Shit sits down on a bench as she uses a claw to open a expired kipper snack. The smell of fish was very pungent as she ate the fish using her claws and lifting her mask every time. There's a quiet skittering before Nessie comes into view -- very easy to make out even from a distance, the large scorpion-like teenager stands out clearly in the open playground, her many jointed legs leaving distinct small prints across the grey city snow. She's also kind of bundled, a patchwork knit cowl over a Xavier's hoodie over some kind of blanket draped on her large armored thorax, and her expression lights when she sees Shane, both pairs of arms waving. "Oh! Hi-hi-hi! Did I keep you waiting everything's gross --" Her several pairs of eyes dart over to Holland's bench as she says this, and quickly amends: "-- ummm I mean like, not -- uh -- I mean the streets are gross. Icy. Slippery." "Tch, you're good. Nobody's expecting a hurry in this shit." Shane hops down off the bike, lifting one arm up and stretching up onto his tiptoes to offer Nessie a brief, tight squeeze of hug. He offers his carton of chicken nuggets out, and waves his other hand back towards his large panniers. "You want to take the bags whole or unpack 'em? Pretty heavy load." His head turns, gaze following after Nessie's towards Holland on the bench. One clear set of eyelids blinks -- sideways -- followed by the outer ones, up and down. "Are you wearing soup cans on your face?" Holland looked at them and ate another fish before she nodded. In response to the question about her mask. "Y-yes i am, I make do with what i have access to me" She coughs as the cans rattle as smoke comes out of the under side of the mask via small roughly punched holes from a rusted nail. She looks thin and scraggly and fairly ill as you can see the two sets of pure white pupils. Nessie sinks lower on her legs and returns the hug, her barbed tail swishing overhead. She stays dropped low as she fixes her gaze on Holland, her brows hiking. "What?" Her head has tilted just a little to the side. "I mean -- what?" Shane just blinks again, slow, and leans back against his bike. "Huh." One of his claws extends and he skewers another chicken tender, biting off a chunk. "I like the way you say that like wearing weird-ass shit on your face is just a normal life thing whose purpose we should grok, like, intuitively. Big Hot Topic Mall Goth energy. Are your soup cans, uh, on -- fire?" she shook her head as she looked at them. "N-no they arent on fire.. its just my mutation causing the black ash..i mainly use the mask to cover my appearance in public..." She spoke softly as she picked up another fish and ate it. She shuddered as she looked at them, thankfully for her she can consume any organic matter to survive...even if it isnt pleasent The look Nessie gives Holland is first very blank but then kind of sad. She looks away from the girl and instead to the (extremely obviously blue-skinned clawed sharky) Shane, her own barbed tail lashing again high above her segmented scorpion thorax. "Oh. Um. Yeah. People can be kind of. Sucky. Um -- does your -- ash stuff -- burn away regular masks or something? Soup cans look uncomfortable. I guess maybe they aren't uncomfortable for everyone." She only takes up Shane's offer of a chicken tender now, reaching one of her pincer-tipped arms out to pluck one from the carton and nibble it. Shane's cheek clicks against his (extremely visibly sharp) teeth. "Sucks," he agrees mildly. His mouth opens briefly, hovering on the edge of saying something else as he looks at the soup cans, but he evidently thinks better of it and just takes another bite of his chicken instead. "Y'from around here?" she sighed and removed her mask and glasses showing her face, two rows of teeth with ash blacks kin that with the removal of the mask wafted in dark smoke, she had no lips as she looked at them shyly. "Well, i wear the mask to cover my face...not everyone likes to see the monsterous teeth or appearance i have." "Don't -- the soup cans -- draw attention too? I mean, it's winter, a scarf would be a lot less, um, obvious?" Nessie is now shifting a little uncomfortably on her many legs, her barbed tail starting to lash more twitchily. She scoots closer to Shane's bike, polishing off the rest of the chicken. "How heavy is heavy? I could probably carry heavy." "Uh." Shane blinks again at this response. He's quiet for several seconds -- long enough to stretch distinctly into awkward territory -- before crumpling his now-empty cardboard carton and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. "You. Want. A -- scarf?" He sounds extremely uncertain about this. He, too, pops the last of his chicken into his mouth, and opens up the hard-sided panniers to show Nessie the neatly bagged and packaged groceries and food inside. "Know you're tough but it's a big load." "...I-i...i wouldnt mind a scarf..." she said as she sat down... she honestly wasnt to sure what to do she didnt like being questioned about things.. it made her nervous as she looked towards them . She slowly began to resume eating the kipper snacks as her gloves which where worn showed her pale white skin that flaked off with movement only to be rehealed seconds after. Nessie examines the food offerings thoughtfully. She wriggles herself up higher on her legs, chest puffing out confidently. "I am tough, she says with a firm nod of her head. "You tie those on me and I'll be good. -- might be annoying going over the ice but once I'm back in the tunnels I'll be fine." Shane's grin is broad and toothy, and his answering nod matches Nessie's for confidence. "Aight." That's all he says as he sets about heaving the load of groceries and supplies up onto Nessies broad blanket-covered back, folding the tops of the bags over to protect them from the sleet. A few thwips from his wrist shooters have them securely web-glued in place. He unwinds the scarf from his neck after this -- it's very soft and very warm -- offering it out to Holland. "Hopefully be a little less, uh. Well." His shrug is very small. He hops up onto his bike after this, leaning out to offer a curled fist towards Nessie to bump. "You good?" Holland took the scarf and smiled happily. "T-thankyou." She wraps her face up as quick as possible as she shivvered. she looked at Nessie and was a little awestrucked by her braveness. She her self didnt have that as she was looking at them. Nessie's fist bumps back against Shane's. "Thanks! Tell your pa thanks!" She shoots a quick glance back to Holland but only ducks her head, crouches low on her jointed legs, and skitters out of the park with startling swiftness. "Stay safe," Shane offers. His gills, visible now that the scarf is no longer wound around them, flutter slowly, and he shivers faintly before zipping his jacket collar a little higher. "You too, yeah?" His chin lifts to Holland in a small nod. His hands wrap around the handles of his bike -- the soft hum it makes when it starts is nothing like a motorcycle's usual engine. The bike lifts straight into the air, whooshing off overhead and disappearing in short order off into the grey sky.